


Guilt

by Devcon03



Category: The Transformers (IDW Generation One)
Genre: Enemies to Friends to Lovers, M/M, Sticky Sexual Interfacing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-06
Updated: 2018-12-06
Packaged: 2019-09-13 04:15:22
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 995
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16885449
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Devcon03/pseuds/Devcon03
Summary: In the end, guilt is what brings them together





	Guilt

**Author's Note:**

> Fluff, because yes
> 
> Not Beta read.

In the end, guilt is what brings them together. 

Guilt, both understand. It separates them from the rest of the crew, creating a rift that is not easily overcome. Funny, isn't it, how they _won't_ fight about the little things that reminds them of what they owe to the world?

Harsh words lit the darkness up, biting sarcasm and anger, but never, _never_ , do they mention the forbidden topics. Neither is ready to take that step, because no matter their differences, they share sin, and carry the same stigma. 

And, when guilt stirs, it _devours_.

*~*~*

A curious look sparks the madness.

Rodimus, as far as Megatron is aware, won't hold back in a fight, or back down from a discussion. He is brash, self-absorbed. Arrogant. Qualities that won't do in a leader, but they have taken him this far. That, at least, counts for something. 

They meet in the corridors, in the helm. They see each-other in the mess hall. Rodimus continuously challenges him, makes use of biting sarcasm. _How shallow_ , lies on the tip of his glossa. Every insult is delivered with the kind of cocksure confidence Megatron recognises as an acute fear of failing. 

Megatron does not give in, does not cater, will not be made to lose face. 

He thus remains ever impassive.

*~*~*

As time passes, camaraderie turns their interactions into something... else.

It takes him by surprise, and Megatron tries to ignore this fact at first. They share responsibilities, and the work load is equally divided, no matter what others think – Rodimus _does_ pull his own weight. It's hard to disrespect a mech keeps falling into recharge in his office. 

Pangs of conscience drives Megatron to do better, _become_ better. Their quest is unfinished, the losses greater than expected. Here, he cannot say that there is such a thing as collateral damage, because he has to face them, even the dead ones. 

Funny, how no one ever warned him of the spark-shattering pain that follows, when you _care_. 

Caught in between blaming himself and keeping the crew intact, he now sees his co-captain everywhere, even when he isn't within proximity.  
Rodimus, he realises, fares no better. 

_Guilt devours._

That's when looks turn into touch.

*~*~*

There's a running joke, see.

He has heard it often enough, how Rodimus will burst into flames whenever he wants something bad enough. 

Beneath the joke, truth moves like a mirage. 

Suddenly, the Lost Light isn't big enough, because he sees Rodimus _everywhere._ And, every time the pass each-other, sleek fingertips brush against Megatron's frame, leaving invisible marks. It feels _so good_ , and he can't but think of how it would feel having some of that blistering, unapologetic heat against his cold, rigid frame.

 _How did this happen_ , he wonders almost in a daze. The small, unhurried strokes to his battle-worn frame burn, bringing forth long-forgotten memories of pleasure.  


Rodimus is no longer a shallow would-be-hero. Not since his co-captain told him _why_.

_Because we share the same guilt, you and I._

*~*~*

How does one measure time?

Is it by the passing of each recorded death, or by the painful experience of defeat? How otherwise to keep track of each stolen moment of secrecy? 

Rodimus is strong in a way Megatron cannot grasp. Most of the time, the would-be-a-Prime makes himself impossible to respect, and at his worst, he is _ridiculous_. When no bot is watching, the weight of a dead city makes Rodimus stumble. There's guilt in his optics when their gazes lock onto each-other, and Megatron decides that Rodimus is an itch he cannot scratch.

In the darkness, where no bot can find them, he is devoured by a greedy mouth, and worshipped by a slick glossa. It feels good to kiss the only mech within thousands of planets, who can compete with the destruction and energon upon his hands. 

And soon, kisses aren't enough.

*~*~*

_Are you ashamed of me?_

The question hangs in the open, and Megatron refuses to look away. Is he? Rodimus isn't Starscream, but everything shallow and ugly about him does bring the Seeker to mind. He chooses silence, and so does Rodimus. 

A fortnight passes. 

Megatron is the first to give in, the cold too much to bear, approaching his co-captain with sweet kisses in mind. Rodimus returns the kiss with a punch worthy of Starscream, and a snarl deeper than his own. They wrestle for a long time, and the starlight creates patterns against their frames as they throw the other into the ground.

Snarls become grunts, and grunts turn into hisses. Kisses, Megatron decides, won't do at all. Rodimus agrees, biting his lower lip until the taste of energon explodes in Megatron's mouth. A life-time passes by as the kisses deepen, and Megatron moans softly. 

This time, he doesn't move away when Rodimus grabs his interface panel, and the moan becomes a silent scream. 

Guilt is the last thing he thinks of, as Rodimus' spike slides home. 

_Are you ashamed now?_

Rodimus' vocals are silky, his thrusts deep and hard, and Megatron comes with a desperate shout, unable to respond.

*~*~*

The guilt never dissipates.

It drives them, consumes them, and forces them to do more, do _better_. 

In the darkness, the release is sweet as energon, the love-making hot and rough. Megatron learns a thing or two about his co-captain, and why he allows himself to be the joke of the ship. _I'm going to save every single one this time._ A promise, or a threat? Megatron doesn't care, but he welcomes the heat between his thighs, is as needy as Rodimus himself.

What will happens, he wonders, when the heat turns into cold, and the kisses wane?

A look at Rodimus' pleasure-drunk face, and he wishes they never come to that. Rodimus isn't Starscream, but Rodimus is... wild. _Beautiful_ , this fire between his thighs. Molten pleasure that drives deeper and deeper until Megatron screams. 

If he can help it, this will never end. 

And, guilt be damned.


End file.
